Release the Brainrot

“Care to explain?”

The sentence was casual, the accusation not so much. You didn’t even try to defend yourself. Just gave him your usual, infuriating, adorable smile.

“What do you mean?”

As if you really thought you had been stealthy enough to avoid the Six Eyes. Stupid or naïve, he didn’t know. Bold, maybe.

“Really, Y/N? We’re doing this?”

Your heart picked up slightly. He straightened, feeling his own heart mirror the accelerating pulses of your organ, his eyes locked on the tiny twitches of bluish veins and arteries filled with increasing gushes of red blood cells. The beginnings of panic, carving themselves for his eyes only into the very fabric of your body. He even heard, buried beneath the faint hiss of hurried air sucked into your mouth and tensing muscles, the very distant flapping of cardiac valves opening and closing frantically, desperately filling your ventricles with loads of fresh blood.

This was music to him.

Blessed were his eyes, for they missed nothing of this. Every time he pressured you, every light threat, and your most hidden, deepest feelings, the ones a jujutsu sorcerer ought to never show, would simply bloom across your skin. It was a show he had simply become addicted to.

“You really don’t have anything to tell me?”

Your heart was now beating feverishly. Satoru tried not to focus on the bulging flesh between your breasts, on the vital organ squeezed between heaving lungs, or the tiny beads of sweat, clinging like glassy dew to your hair. One dropped from a lock and exploded into dozens of transparent, soft watery shards on the floor. A smell, bittersweet, acid, the definition of nervous-induced terror, wafted past him. You still held on to your smile, but your body told enough. That was his favorite part about you. Flesh, tendons, bones, veins became pages of a book only he was able to read. Your reactions would only ever belong to him, and that thought pleased him more than he’d care to admit. His own heart had sped up, thriving not on fear but excitement. Maybe arousal, too.

“What about this?”

Satoru knew he should have waited a bit before going straight for the killing blow, but this was simply too good to miss. He lifted a hand, gently, lazily, toward his neck, and tapped it twice in a taunting, mocking gesture on the spot where your own neck was adorned with a very obvious hickey. It hit instantly. Your hand slammed onto the embarrassing evidence while your eyes widened into pure shame and shock. You thought about excuses, explanations, apologies, all as ridiculous as the next, whereas your teacher leaned in slightly, almost drooling at the sight of your dilated pupils, the sheen of sweat glimmering on the hollow of your throat, the distressed bubbling of blood pooling into your cheeks, and the squelches of muscles constricting around grinding bones. Together, they played into an unseen sheet music you weren’t even aware of, turning your body into an orchestra, smoothing your skin into a visual masterpiece, a painting of swollen arteries, bulging irises, twitching muscles and palpitating heart.

Satoru didn’t feel jealous. He didn’t need to when the “threat” you had been fooling around with was just a naïve Kyoto student, who would be gone in less than three days. He did feel, however, irritated that you would even have the audacity to try and hide something that obvious to him. Him, the holder of the Six Eyes.

“This? Hum…”

His eyes didn’t miss the new patch of redness on your lips where your teeth had bitten in, nor the slight tremor in your neck where your vocal chords were fumbling over each other to formulate an acceptable excuse. Fleshy walls swelled, air got trapped, saliva pooled beneath your tongue.

“I… I just…”

“Never mind.”

The sharpness with which your stuttering had been cut short was perhaps worse than any scolding you had imagined. You looked down, shoulders quivering slightly, while Satoru listened intently to the rubbing of your pads against the pallid patch of sucked skin on your neck.

“Did you enjoy it?”

You breathed hitched. Air collided against the wet walls of windpipe, and the delicate line of your throat bobbed once, twice.

“You know what? I don’t wanna know. I’m not mad at you.”

You looked up, widened eyes finding hungry blue and a sharp line of teeth.

“You… you’re not?”

“No. But…”

Pearls of sweat poured from the thousands of little black craters you called pores. Satoru heard nothing but the delicious rush of poorly oxygenated blood gush into your overworked ventricles and the frenetic pulsing of the organ swelling between hollow lungs full of hissing air as he leaned in to brush his lips against your forehead. He let his lips rest against damp skin for a few uncomfortable seconds, feeling the rises and bumps of your veins just beneath his mouth. A smell of faded shampoo and dried sweat flooded his nostrils. Your body sang for him, a plea full of brimming panic and an appeal for mercy at the same time, a clockwork of contracted muscles and rubbing tendons. You stayed still, the tip of your nails slicing into your palms, having no choice but to accept the contact.

Finally he pulled away, and his smile was all benevolence and condescendence.

“Never do that again. Ever. There will be consequences.”

You nodded, the movement as stiff as a puppet’s. Satoru’s eyes briefly went over you. You waited for a dismissal. Satoru let three seconds linger, enough time for you to start fidgeting in your seat, before granting you permission to leave with a lazy gesture of his hand. He didn’t even need to speak.

It was funny to watch the muscles contracting at the back of your legs and calves, tensing for a chase you were probably vividly picturing right now. Your shoulder blades rippled slightly under your shirt, anticipating an imaginary fight. It was even funnier to watch your spine stretch in the smooth curve of your back, with the skin flattening over the irregular bumps scattered across your small vertebras. Your bones groaned, a low, strangled sound trapped between squelchy, guilty muscles.

You walked a bit, trying to look ahead and failing miserably. The tremors in your shoulders were cute, too. Satoru wondered when you were going to run when he caught the sudden hitch in your pace, a second before you gave in. You darted like a hunted rabbit, a cacophony of screeching sounds colliding inside your body. Your silhouette disappeared behind the illusory safety of the building, but Satoru’s eyes followed you for a while, catching easily glimpses of your bouncing hair across windows, knowing exactly which way you had to take to go to your room. In three minutes you were back in your dorm, hands clasping your knees, panting heavily, knowing you were going to throw up later but refusing to admit it. It wasn’t new to you. Gojo always acted a little odd. Sometimes a little odder than others. And, yes, maybe it was even worse around you. His eyes creeped you out the most. They held nothing and showed nothing. They gleamed when you were scared, they sharpened when you stumbled.  Whatever you were feeling, he always seemed to guess it before you did, to sense it before your emotions truly made their way into your brain. But that wasn’t like he wouldn’t do anything, right?

Except now you weren’t so sure anymore.

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“What did I say?”

You tried to protest. It didn’t work. Another thrust, and the whimper died right in your throat.

“Repeat what I said. Word for word. Now.”

“N-never… n-never, ever do”-

“No.”

The slap landed on your thigh, and you whimpered again. Satoru leaned over you, effortlessly holding your squirmy body. White locks brushed against your forehead, mingling with your own damp hair. His voice was perfectly calm, all honeyed and sweet, cutting cleanly through your breathless cries and half-strangled moans, a picture of stability against your chaotic thrashing.

“That’s not what I said.”

The ghost of a kiss, mocking, suffocating, reached your lips, and you forced yourself to still, trying to recall his exact words among the mess of terror and screaming your brain was tangled in while a hand idly crawled up your side, like an unwelcome bug stuck to your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing hard on the whirlwind of broken memories behind your eyelids instead of the sticky contact you were forced to endure. Satoru smiled, amused at the adorable sight of your face scrunched up in concentration, and pressed his lips a little harder against yours.

He let his teeth push softly against the plump flesh of your lower lip, promising a future, impatient bite. The certainty of pain brought a delightful little squirm of your body he had nestled against his, and the words suddenly surged out of your foggy brain, like an unexpected, magical formula to save the day.

“Uhm… Y-you said… Never do that again, ever… A-and… T-there will be consequences?”

You opened your eyes with a flicker of fragile, childish hope, the one eager students typically got when they finally had their answer. Satoru’s faint smirk curled into a condescending, loving smile. His hops lazily rolled once, twice, against yours, deliberately dragging his cock against your aching, needy walls.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

Pleasure shot through you before fading as quickly as lightning in the sky and you whined, your hips automatically following the movement, seeking more with desperate little grinds. You were forced to stop, though, when his hand landed back on your thigh with a more forceful slap. Pulsing pain and ghostly pleasure prickled your skin.

“No. Be nice now,” Satoru said, a deep, gentle purr that melted from his throat and rolled through his chest, accompanying another idle roll of his hips. “I did say there would be consequences. But what did you do?”

A tiny, pitiful whimper was your sole answer. You closed your eyes again, sensing his shadow falling over you through your eyelids as he leaned over and buried his nose into your hair. A breath, and myriads of smells flooded his overstimulated senses. Opened pores oozing trickles of bitter sweat. Ghosts of lingering perfume. Fear, acrid, tangible.

Satoru was already losing himself in you. Your words came from very far, struggling to pierce through the maze his senses were creating for him. His body sung just as yours, screaming for more contact, wailing in pure despair at the treasures of patience he was displayed despite the proximity of your flesh.

His eyes were making him dizzy. He saw everything. Bundles of tangled locks stiffened by drying sweat. The soft patch of hair on your neck, instinctively bristling. The rise and fall of the crisscrossed greenish veins above your heart, which beat wildly against the imperceptible lines of your ribcage. The twitches of muscles stretching in flight-or-fight response in your biceps. The fluttering of lashes against glistening skin.

And then there was everything else.

The weight of your hip in his hand. The long, thin bone peeking shyly between his fingers. Your pussy, fluttering helplessly around his throbbing cock, squelching whenever you shifted beneath him. The roar of blood guided by fear, the electricity running at high-speed through your exhausted nerves, the strain of pinkish, elastic tendons against groaning articulations.

It was perfect. A choreography of sounds and smells and sights he was getting drunk of.

“I disobeyed.”

He buried his nose deeper, crushing you a bit more against the sheets in the process, ignoring your pained protests.

“And why did you disobey?”

Silence. You knew he knew. You knew it was because you really liked that Kyoto boy, because he made you smile and because you had convinced yourself Gojo had finally gotten off your back. He knew you had felt bold enough because of the space he had deliberately given you, watching from afar, craving the moment you would make that final mistake.

To confess that your feelings could potentially belong to someone other than him was a death sentence, even though every decoy you had put up to deceive him had pretty much failed by now, so you did the only thing you could think of: play along.

“Because I’m stupid.”

The words cut clearly, for the first time maybe since this had started. His chest pressed against yours, a sudden laugh rolling inside. Satoru kissed your hair, tasting flicks of your sweat on his tongue.

“That’s right. A stupid, dumb little slut.”

The next kiss landed right below your ear, tearing a shiver out of your sensitive body. The next one was pressed against your damp collarbone. You closed your eyes again as heavy, muscled flesh glided against yours, pushing you deeper into the bed. Hurrying pants reached your ears and hips pushed against you, into you, rolling more enthusiastically as arousal finally overtook Satoru. You welcomed the relief brought by the movement and you arched slightly, moaning softly along with your teacher. Satoru’s pace was still slow but firm, his skin sliding against yours. His eyes watched you with great attention, traveling over your rippling flesh, hands holding your body as if you were a porcelain doll.

“Aren’t you?”

You nodded. It wasn’t enough. His hands flew to your face, dug into your cheeks. You shrieked at the sudden contact. You opened your eyes and were met with two icy irises, with shades of blue swirling lustfully.

“Y-yes. I’m a stupid, dumb little slut. Yours,” you added after a beat, gripping his shoulders.

Satoru moaned. Your words and your wild heartbeat filled his ears, beat in his eardrums. He picked up the pace, hips slamming against yours, and pleasure ripped from your previously neglected pussy to the rest of your body.

“Again.”

The word was barely a puff of air, a strangled sound among his pleasure.

“I’m your stupid, dumb little slut.”

You didn’t mean it, but it didn’t matter. Satoru feasted inside his own world, with the courses his senses kept bringing to him. Your words were swallowed with enthusiastic kisses, your compliance rewarded with a harsh pace. You didn’t even have it in now to resist, just endure, enjoy the ride to forget how you had even ended up here in the first place. Nails tore through your thighs. Thin crimson lines dripped on the bed. A sharp bite landed on your lower lip, and teeth tugged, hard, spilling fresh blood into mingled mouths. Skin slapped against skin, and warm air flew over your face. Flooded senses gave up, and Satoru came inside you, drilling his aching cock into your clenching pussy, again and again while your back drew a precarious arch above the bed.

The next moment was filled with silence. Your words floated uneasily, words you knew he wouldn’t let you take back. You breathed softly as Satoru gently put his head against your chest, wet hair sticking to your heaving skin while he absorbed greedily every beat of your heart, locked in a prison of crossing bones. The organ was so close to his face, so near, separated only by a thin veil of nerves and arteries that he briefly considered ripping it out, to kiss it senseless until there was nothing left, but he forced down the urge.

He didn’t need to spell out this new truth between you two, either. You were his, your body was his, and he would keep it singing for him whenever he pleased.

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“No.”

The song never stopped, but it took upon a slight hint of sadness as Geto passed the comb once, twice, feeling for any resistance in your scalp.

“Why?”

No irritation. No annoyance. There was never any when you didn’t answer the way he wanted you to. Just a deep, unalterable melancholy. Your unhappiness was a problem to fix, a stain that couldn’t exist in this spotless reality, and Geto would work tirelessly on it until he found a solution.

You didn’t bother to look at him. Your eyes traveled over the room, and landed on the withered flowers. You pointed a finger at them.

“I want new ones.”

“Of course, dear.”

The humming resumed, calmer, more assured. Your sour mood was already erased in his eyes.

“Anything else?”

Loving hands replaced the comb. As usual, you tilted your head toward him, letting him feel the perfection of his work through the softness of your strands.

“Mochis.”

You spoke on a whim. Well, your new life was now made of carefully controlled whims. You could have anything you wanted, except the world outside.

A kiss was planted on the crown of your head, and hands rested on your neck.

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“What flavors?”

“Chocolate and strawberry.”

Another kiss.

“I’ll take care of it.”

You nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

The kiss moved to your temple.

“Anything.”

“Any news of my mom?”

You shivered when lips met the skin of your neck.

“None.”

You didn’t scoff this time. Here, your mother was part of the many things that weren’t allowed to exist, to bleed through in your sheltered life. You had tried to find her. Call her. You had asked Geto, pleaded, begged, cried. Your sobs and tears were always met with gentle smiles and cold answers. No, he wouldn’t look for your mother. No, she wasn’t important in your life. Yes, she did mistreat you. No, you didn’t need her.

You had given up after a while. Your silence had been rewarded by countless gifts, but it hadn’t been enough to buy her out of your heart.

You closed your eyes when his mouth latched over a spot on your neck, sucking a dark bruise in your skin.

“Can I go out today?”

“Where?”

“To the park.”

“Of course, love.”

You squeezed his hand. His lips stretched in a content smile against you.

Technically, there was nothing stopping you from leaving the temple. There were no guards posted in the hallways or at your bedroom, no devoted disciple following you around, but you sensed it.

There was something around Geto that creeped you out perhaps even more than his presence did; a rustling, brimming malevolence, writhing all around him. Prowling in the dark. Twisting in the corners. Screeching at the darkest hour of the night.

You had tried to ask him, but to Geto, that wasn’t something you needed to know. He hadn’t denied it, but he hadn’t explained it either. That had made things worse. Now you stayed curled at his side all night, too scared to go up for a midnight snack, or open your eyes in the dark.

What was worse was feeling that presence in broad daylight. It shifted around you as Geto allowed you out of the temple, brushed against you while you went shopping. Freedom was tailored according to your needs, but never to your wishes. You knew this quiet, evil thing would stick to you like glue should you try to run away. Of course you had thought about it, but in the end you were too scared. You were ashamed of your own cowardice as you retreated in the cozy, gilded cage this cult leader had designed for you. You acted on impulses, asked for clothes you would never have been able to afford on your own, ate expensive food way out of your league. In return, you let him feast on your flesh at night. You had become dull to it, and you even had come to enjoy the pleasure it brought you. If you couldn’t get free, you might as well make the most of the positive things you could feel, both physically and mentally.

You reciprocated sometimes. Kissed his cheek when you felt particularly numb, hugged him when you needed to cry. There was no one else you could turn to, after all, and Geto was more than happy to welcome your tears and comfort you through your sobs.

The wing he had built for you was beautiful, but you still wished to explore. Sometimes, when his sessions started very early and there were none of his colleagues around, you were allowed to come into the room. You settled on his lap and observed, mesmerized, people of all ages pouring in through the door, thinking that you had been one of them at some point, blissfully ignored and naïve while he had set his sights on you.

Geto didn’t particularly like this, for it was risky to have you in the open, but to let you witness the extent of his power over humans was simply too entertaining and addicting for him. To feel your weight and your small frame nestled against him while he ordered around a flock of monkeys with just a few words was very satisfying. He could sense your quiet wonder, tinged with silent fear, and that was a feeling he cherished as much as your acts of love.

He kissed your jaw, and you tilted to allow better access.

“Do you wish to go to the garden?” You nodded. You stood up, automatically lacing your arm around his. Your life here was perfect in every way, and it would continue to be. Geto would make sure of it.

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Little by little, you gave some crumbles of silent affection. You did your best to prepare actual, edible dishes. You told him about your favorite flowers, looking down at the ground, as if embarrassed to speak aloud about something you dearly liked. You asked him to lace your corset, allowing his fingers to dance over your skin. Gojo welcomed this change with great happiness. Whether it was his punishment or simply the effect of time, he didn’t know what encouraged you to behave like this, but he thrived on each tiny peck, each tiny symbol of love you were willing to give him.

You grew bolder over the weeks. You now wore full, actual smiles whenever he was around. You accepted his kisses, sometimes tilting your neck as a quiet offering. You took care of the house, as was expected of you, and even if your work was still clumsy, Gojo didn’t criticize you in the slightest, too happy to see you partake in the role he so dearly wanted you in.

Over time, Gojo grew bolder, too. He placed purposeful kisses on sensitive areas he had mapped out, behind your ears, on a tiny spot on your jaw. He let his hand trail over your side, like a soft caress over fabric, brought you closer to him when you walked by. You responded enthusiastically, smiling knowingly at him, swaying your hips a little more, brushing your hand past his.

You knew your plan had succeeded when you sensed him coming behind you while you were watching over stew boiling in a pot. He rested his chin on your shoulder, watching the bubbles of brownish sauce pop over roasted meat, before his fingers trailed over the back of your corset. The string holding the fabric together fell apart under quick, skilled movements, and he gently pulled off the restraining piece of cloth. Your chest heaved, grateful for the rush of fresh air, and you were left completely bare above the waist as pieces of unrestrained fabric pooled around your hips.

You molded yourself into the perfect little housewife, turning to give him a cheeky smile, arching your back slightly in a delicious, inviting curve, bending just a bit above the furniture. He smiled back, the lusting, hungry kind you had seen on the beach. His hands roamed over your back, slowly, savoring the feeling of smooth skin under his palms. Then they crawled upwards, thumbs rubbing over you, sliding over to your front. You whined when they closed on your breasts, arched even more when two fingers pinched a pebbled nipple, rolling it once, twice, while his other hand gave playful squeezes to supple flesh. You felt his breath quicken behind you, encouraged by your needy sounds, and soon fabric was pressed against your bare back while your husband’s hands pushed your breasts together, letting your flesh rub against itself, massaging your chest with growing lust. Dozens of little kisses rained on your nape, teasing your senses, and you tilted your head, inviting more small, happy bites, from a man who was overjoyed at seeing his attentions finally received. You tried one little roll of your lips, letting your ass barely brush against his crotch, which was met with a chocked groan. One hand slid downward and squeezed one cheek in retaliation as you grinded again, with more force this time.

You didn’t think you had ever seen such happiness in your husband, not even on the day he caught you. You kept on your mask, showering him with all the loving attention he had been desperately craving, holding on with rushed moans to the counter as the rest of your dress was shoved to the ground. You arched, you whined, you cried out and you moaned as his hips slammed into you from behind. You offered him exactly the vision he had pictured in his head, the magical creature, tamed into submission by love and time. You accepted each one of his caresses, each one of his hungry, painful bites.

You came once. You came again, later in the bedroom.

The last barrier Gojo had wanted to cross, the one you had been so careful in building up, had finally crumbled, and he took great advantage of it during the next days. Sex became distraction, and with distraction came leniency. Some details, like misplaced weapons or missing objects, went unnoticed by him when he came home, his attention too focused on ravishing your apparent submissive self. Your search, though very careful, became much easier, but fruitless. You buried your frustration beneath kind smiles and naïve giggling and endured the hunter’s constant, suffocating affections, roaming during the day inside a dead house, schooling your body into pleasuring your captor at night. The proximity of his warm, sweaty body didn’t bring you any sort of comfort whatsoever, and simply served to remind you even more strongly of the absence of your skin.

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One day, an opportunity came.

You were lying on your side, your flesh cooling down after another intense session of lovemaking, listening eagerly to the distant rumble of a prowling thunderstorm outside. Gojo’s body was half-draped over yours, head nestled in your neck, with deep, untroubled breaths that spoke of heavy sleep. You cherished the sounds of nature, and latched onto anything that might remind you of your true home. Often you would poke your head among the waves, watching with dizzying eagerness an army of black clouds rolling over the sea like a silent curse, turning the waters black, the faraway scent of rain and lightning teasing your nostrils. The quiet, occasional growl lurking in the sky above immediately brought both soothing and wrenching memories of the sea, and so you listened with closed eyes to picture harsh strips of broken, white electricity striking the heavens, when Gojo shifted behind you.

You opened an eye as he straightened, the side of his face turned toward the window. A beat passed, followed by a louder, angrier thunderclap. Gojo listened, leaned over, kissed your shoulder and got up, using all his stealth skills so as not to wake you. You stayed still, curious, and waited until he left the room.

A brief flash of lightning illuminated the walls when your feet touched the wooden ground. You didn’t bother to put clothes on. You just walked toward the window opening on the garden, your ears picking up the characteristic sound of rustling among the fronds. There you caught sight of Gojo, advancing among the hunched flowers, their stems bent over by rising gusts of howling wind. He opened the fence, and your eyes followed him until his figure disappeared in the forest, swallowed by the gnarled trunks of the trees.

You stayed still, heart pounding with faint hope. The sudden urgency in your husband’s footsteps, his stiff shoulders as he walked over brambles, could it mean?...

You darted back to the bed when you glimpsed a tuft of white hair. Lightning tore through the sky with a snarl of thunder. You huddled on the bed, trying to recover the position he had left you in, and closed your eyes.

Soon after Gojo was back, curling against you. You couldn’t repress a shiver at the coldness of his body, and he chuckled lightly.

“Hey, honey. Did I wake you?”

“You’re cold.”

You felt a kiss on your cheek as he pulled you closer against him.

“I had some pelts to put back before the storm hit. Come here.”

You snuggled against his chest, nuzzling softly between his pecs and his collarbone while you two settled comfortably. If your husband was soon asleep, you stayed awake all night, heart pounding with impossible excitement.

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You could barely keep still the following day.

The storm and the forest kept playing in your mind, again and again, as you tiptoed to give Gojo his usual morning kiss. The hunter didn’t pick on your restlessness, carefully hidden behind your kindly behavior, and gratefully smiled against your lips, gifting you an extra peck before he left.

Finally, you were alone.

You waited during the next hours, probably more than you should have, but you didn’t want to risk any of the neighbors spying on you, despite them having gotten somewhat used to your presence. Only children came peering at you now, but the weather was still moody, and thankfully you were left in complete peace. Today, the silence, and its emptiness were oddly relieving. You slowly stepped into the garden. The earth was swollen with rain drops. Many vegetables were drowning in a muddy pool of sloshing, dirty water. Unfortunately, most of the flowers hadn’t been able to resist. You faltered at the sight of their broken stems scattered around and the fallen petals half-buried in mounds of slimy muck, but you didn’t stop, unheeding the wetness seeping in the leather of your shoes as they sank in the flooded ground. The forest seemed to be waiting for you, opening wide like a cold gap filled with spidery branches. Your lips curled in a tiny smile as nature finally surrounded you, after months of being coddled up in that infernal house. Leaves brushed against your shoulders, water dropped on your dress. Roots clawed at the fabric, branches spindled your hair. The moist scent of soaked bark and shivering ferns flooded your nose.

Gojo’s tracks were easy to follow. The hunter had left deep marks in the earth, which were now filled with broken sticks, dead insects and pieces of rotten moss all swirling in orangish water. You followed the track quietly, heart beating frantically against your ribs, until they stopped in front of a dense, spiky thornbush.

You stopped as well. The thorns looked dangerously inviting. You didn’t pay any mind to their stings when you plunged head-on into the bush, pushing and scratching through the foliage of brambles. Thorns tore through your palms, got stuck in your locks, but you pressed on, clutching the branches and pulling them back, until finally you found what you were looking for, in a hole at the heart of the bush.

Disturbed earth. Finger-shaped prints.

You dug, with bloody fingers and relentless tenacity. Your pads hit something. Something soft. You scratched frantically at the muddy soil, pushing away little piles of accumulating dirt. A speck of gray appeared among the dark brown you were digging into. You stopped. Breathed.

A single tear rolled on your cheek as your hands gently closed over the material. You pulled. Soft, grayish skin rippled between your palms, as gentle and kind as the day it had left your shoulders.

Another tear followed. Soon you were sobbing into the seal skin, lovingly cradling the seal’s head against your chest, breathing with unending relief the smell of the sea, sharp, sweet, bitter, cozy. Like home.

The forest hushed around you. You cried, pouring out all your suffering and longing into the open, finally sharing it with your skin as you clung clinging to it. Your body, exhausted after days of pretending, let you rest. Silence leaked between the ancient trunks. Then your brain screamed at you to suddenly move.

Your head whipped around. The forest was empty. But for how long? A sudden sense of urgency pulsed wildly in your body. You stood up and tore your dress with a scowl. The human fabric fluttered helplessly to the ground. Cold, fresh air flew over your skin, soothing your cuts. With an expert, masterful gesture, you draped the seal skin over your shoulders, and it immediately curled around the familiar shape of your body.

You ran. You weren’t thinking anymore, you just ran, dashing over crooked roots and dripping bushes. You ran, trusting your instinct, listening to the growing rumble of the sea somewhere, getting closer, closer, until your eyes finally settled on sculpted waves.

The blue was warm and kind. The sand whispered countless praises while your feet skimmed over it. The seal skin was already closing around your human flesh, and then you jumped. The noises above were immediately silenced.

The sea swirled around you, kissed your skin, sheltered you in its watery embrace as you eagerly swam toward the safety of the depths.

Finally, you were free.

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🦭Masterlist🦭

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5